


and nights, they fall to the protectors

by lyresea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Episode: s01e15 Yes Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyresea/pseuds/lyresea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night after Nevada doesn't exactly run smooth for Ward either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and nights, they fall to the protectors

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for AoS and in a few years and apparently it's a whole lot of Ward fic. Wasn't expecting that. Trigger warning for episode based non-con, though nothing graphic.
> 
> Not beta-ed. Please forgive any tenses. If the science offends you, I beg you close your eyes and remember the handwave.

**and nights, they fall to the protectors**

He leaves May in the cockpit. He doesn't know what to say – doesn't know what to _think_ – so he goes to the bathroom, leaves the lights off, and showers, letting the warm water soothe his bruising skin and aching muscles. After five minutes, he turns the water off and once dried and dressed in gym pants and a grey shirt, he slips back to his room, carefully avoiding the others. He flops onto his bed, flinging his arm across his eyes. He's asleep in less than five minutes.

He wakes sometime after that, blinking at the ceiling; then rolls over to the side of his bed and vomits on the floor.

He pauses, staring down at the darkness, then flicks his lamp on. He hadn't eaten much when roaming the desert: there hadn't been time with everything going on, what with the planning and the fighting and the _hotel_ – and he leaps away from that thought – so it's mostly remnants of breakfast, and water.

And blood, there's some blood too.

He can taste the metallic tang on his tongue and it's possible he's just bitten his cheek, but then he's sweating and his hands are shaking and his eyesight is blurring and crap, this does not seem to be good.

He slides out of his bed, just avoiding stepping in the vomit, and swipes at the door access, stumbling through as the door glides open.

"Simmons?" he calls, as he lurches down the hall. He bangs on the door to her bunk. "Simmons?"

The room next to him slips open and Fitz's face pops out. Ward squints at him – Fitz looks like he's just woken up, his eyelids half-closed and drooping, red creases on his left cheek. "Ward? What's going on?"

Ward tries to keep looking at Fitz, but he can't. He slumps against the wall and closes his eyes. "I don't know. It's dizzy. I just threw up." He opens his left eye, straining again to see, but the light is so _loud_ and he squints again in defence. "Why's everything so bright?"

At that, Fitz jerks upright, and looks Ward up and down, seeming infinitely more focused. Ward's glad; his brain has just started pounding at his skull and it's being a little distracting. Fitz frowns at him, then jumps forward, lifting Ward's arm and ducking underneath it, wrapping his own around Ward's waist.

"She was in Skye's new room, last I saw," Fitz says. "That was only about a half hour ago. Let's get you down to the lab, okay?"

Ward goes to nod but his vision revolts in protest. "Can't really see at the moment."

Fitz grips Ward's side a little more tightly. "All good. I've got you." And he takes a step forward, pulling Ward with him. "Just please don't vomit on me."

*

The lab is empty when they reach it, and Fitz helps Ward sit in a chair beside the centre bench, before ducking out the door calling "Jemma!"

Ward crosses his arms and leans on the bench in front of him, burying his face in his elbow. He breathes into his arms for a moment, and the dizziness seems to settle, but heavy footsteps clomp into the room behind him, adding to the beating in his head. He raises his head, shields his eyes with his right hand, and stares across the room.

"Ward, what's going on?" Coulson asks, his forehead creasing. "We heard yelling."

The 'we' is him and May. She's standing at the entrance to the lab, arms crossed, face impassive. Yeah, she's always impassive.

Simmons sprints round the corner and pushes past May. Fitz and Skye are slowly following behind, her arm slung around him like Ward's had been earlier. Fitz settles her in a chair and rolls her closer to Ward.

Fitz does good help.

"What's wrong?" Simmons demands, and Ward blinks at her.

"I-" Ward frowns. The thrumming in his head is throwing him off. "I threw up."

Fitz coughs. "And he stumbled out of his room, severely off-balance. He's sweating a lot and feels warm, and is showing intermittent photophobia. He's also very heavy; Skye's much lighter," he adds, as he moves back to sit at the stool at his desk, straight-faced the entire way through.

Skye grins at him. "Good boy." Ward's not sure if it's for reeling off his list of symptoms, the ride to lab, or the weight comment. He doesn't know why he thinks it could be the last – it's pretty obvious that Skye's lighter than him. He has a foot on her in height.

Simmons frowns this time. "Ward, can you get on to the bench?"

He shuts his eyes, nods and stands. Next thing he knows, he's fallen across the bench, lying on his stomach. He opens his eyes and glares at the floor. "I might be dizzier than I realised."

"No kidding," Coulson says from beside him. He reaches down to grab Ward's shoulders and, together with Simmons, they pull Ward back up and manoeuvre him round to sit on the bench.

"His tests were normal earlier; I need to do some more," Simmons says, then pulls opens a drawer and grabs out some needles, blood tubes, and a thermometer, and proceeds to stick them in his body. It's a little discomfiting but he just shuts his eyes some more and accepts it. When she's done, she puts his samples into a machine and flips it on. "Shouldn't be long."

It's maybe fifteen minutes and they wait it out in mostly quiet. Skye finds a piece of paper and pen and starts a game of _tic tac toe_ with him. She kicks his ass, but to be fair, he's just picking squares and drawing in them. He can't focus much more that that; he's not even completely sure if he is supposed to be circles or crosses.

At one point, Ward considers asking them all – well, all bar Simmons – to leave, but then he decides that there's _no_ point. Simmons is very serious about her patient confidentiality, but Fitz had also been exposed and would need to be tested too. Skye would just… skye it out of him eventually. Coulson is his superior officer and May… God, if she wants to stay, he isn't going to chase her away.

The computer beeps and Simmons picks up the tablet. She frowns, then taps at the tablet and the holo table lights up, 3D graphs and long words shooting up and spreading out over the display. Simmons looks at it, eyes wide, almost in a state of awe. She slides a few things round, and then Ward's pretty sure they're looking inside his blood.

"Simmons, what is it?" Coulson asks.

She just shakes her head at Ward. "Ward, it's like you've been on some… whacked-out combination of opiates and amphetamines. Lorelei's had a very physical effect on your system. And with what's happening now… I'd say you're essentially going through withdrawal."

Ward hears the words she's saying but he can't quite concentrate on them and chooses to focus on just one part. He raises his eyebrows. "Whacked out? Did you learn that from Skye?" Skye pokes him in the back.

Simmons continues. "Somewhat targeted, obviously, because otherwise with the amount of drugs needed for a reaction this size, you'd be dead." She turns to Coulson. "I've been thinking, sir, and it's possible that there is a frequency in Lorelei's voice that allows her to effect chemical reactions in the bodies of the susceptible men – maybe it's something the Y-chromosome cannot protect against in replication, or maybe it's that you need a second protective X; I'm not really sure how it would work in alien biology. I suspect that her touch may enhance those reactions."

"Is that actually likely?"

Simmons shrugs. "Well, they are aliens, sir. It could be simply be a technology that we are unaware of. Or a genetic mutation."

Fitz interrupts, right hand raised. His fingers twitch as he talks. "Okay, but why is Ward reacting so badly? I mean, I'm a little sleepy, but I'm not, y'know, falling down stairs or throwing up everywhere."

At his words, Ward rolls his eyes; it ends up being a really poor decision – Fitz tempted fate. Ward's stomach sways and he holds out his hand. "Bucket," he calls.

Skye shoves one into his hands. He quickly checks to make sure there isn't anything in that may cause an explosive reaction – with FitzSimmons you never can be sure – but the bucket is clean and he heaves what's left of his stomach contents into it. Pretty much all water this time.

Skye starts rubbing his back and it's actually comforting, though he'll deny it later, and Simmons turns back to him, resting her hands on his right cheek and forehead but continues talking to Fitz. "Fitz, you were under her influence for a far shorter time than Ward was. You may not have had enough exposure to have such a strong withdrawal."

Fitz nods, but that's not it. Ward knows that's not it. What it is, the reason is–

"It's probably because Lorelei and I had sex." And there it is: the part that he's been trying not to think about. Coulson and May – of course, who else – probably already know. They'd been the two to inspect the hotel room with Sif; he and _she_ had waited to make sure.

What they'd left at the hotel had not been subtle.

And apparently he isn't either. Neither is his team. The lab goes silent.

Skye stops rubbing his back and just rests her hand there. Simmons turns back to him and drops her eyes before steeling herself and lifting his chin to peer at his neck to check his glands. He's not sure how that's supposed to help and he looks away when he realises that they're probably not the only things she can see. Coulson and Fitz just kinda stare at him – well, Fitz stares; Coulson _gazes_ – and May… just looks blank.

Fitz breaks the silence. "How w-" Then he catches himself, looks at the ceiling and frowns, and doesn't finish the sentence.

Simmons steps back and picks up the last needle from beside Ward, as well as a blood test tube. She swings around to Fitz and marches toward him. "Fitz, I'll need another sample of your blood," she says steadily and he quietly offers him arm to her, his face pale.

Simmons quickly draws the blood, sliding the cuff off Fitz's arm and firmly pressing a cotton ball against his elbow. She almost slams the filled tube on the table, dumping the needle beside it. She turns and stops in front of Coulson, watching May over his shoulder. "I need to run some more tests. Now, can you all please leave so that I may talk to Agent Ward alone?"

May steps out and leaves first, but Ward doesn't watch her go. Coulson and Fitz trickle after her. Fitz has his hand pressed against his elbow, but he watches Ward as he leaves. Ward raises his eyes and nods at him in thanks. Fitz returns the nod. Ward makes a note to actually talk to him later; he'd been under her influence too.

Skye dawdles, taking a seat on the bench beside him, leaving a small space between them. They watch as Simmons strides over to the other side of the room to gather whatever instruments she needs for further tests. More needles, he suspects. Hopefully something to settle his stomach.

"Grant," Skye starts slowly, eyes still on Simmons, and he tenses his shoulders – Skye only ever uses his first name when she's getting personal. He braces himself in preparation; she was probably going to side-swipe him. "You were under the influence of an alien… _whatever_. Are you sure you want to call it sex?"

He drops his eyes to his hands, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. His left thumb still has something dark under the nail and he's hoping it's not blood, not his or May's or L–. He slides his pinky nail underneath his thumbnail to clean it, and pulls out a curl of black cotton. Probably from his clothes.

"Grant?" She leans in, as if about to bump shoulders with him, but stops an inch away. He wishes that she had finished it. In any other circumstance, if she'd been trying to get his attention and they'd been sitting like this, she would have.

"Grant?"

And god, so much for a side-swipe – she has crossed right on over to the other side of the highway and headed straight at him.

He breathes out slowly and turns his head to look at her.

"Skye, at the moment, I have to."

She blinks at him.

"Okay?" He hopes she leaves it there; he doesn't want to have to beg.

She gazes at him carefully, then nods and hops off the table – for a very wide definition of hopping. It's more that she kinda half-slides, half-falls off the table to the floor, landing and wobbling on her feet. He grabs her with both hands to steady her then closes his eyes as a wave of dizziness crashes over him. He opens them again to look at Skye, and she's grinning and grimacing at him, her hands resting on his arms.

Which is, of course, when Simmons turns around to find them. "Oh, for Christ's sake," she says, arms flung wide in exasperation. "Why don't you ever do as you're told?"

She crosses back to them, then reaches up to Skye, lifting her eyelids and flashing a penlight in her eyes. Ward is fairly sure that the light wasn't medically required. "Skye, do I need to walk you back to your room?"

Skye pushes her hands away. "No! No, Matron, I'm fine. Better than Secret Agent Man here anyway. No vomit today!" Simmons glares at her, but Skye just turns back to Ward. "If you want to play Battleship later… or, y'know, anything, you know where to find me." She backs up towards the door, her next words very clearly directed at Simmons. "I'll be locked in my lovely, clear and white plexiglass cage."

Ward actually laughs at Skye and she winks back, then spins around and shuffles out the door. She's walking relatively normally until she gets out of the room. Once she leaves, she rests against the wall briefly before taking a deep breath and pushing forward.

Ward frowns.

"Don't worry," Simmons says softly. "I'll check on her in a few minutes. Fitz'll be waiting at her room, if not just down the hall, to make sure she gets there." She pulls out a new pair of gloves and snaps them onto her hands. "Now, how about some more blood samples?"

She grins at him and he glares in response, before holding out his arm. She gently pushes for him to lie on the table, and hums as she takes the samples. He lets slip another small smile.

He actually manages to nap as she works.

*

Simmons lets him go with a few injections, including one for nausea that should also work on his dizziness. He feels miles better and actually _does_ hop to his feet, resting his hand on the table as he lands. He's not remotely close to tipping over and his headache is far gone.

"Ward," she calls softly as he's about to stride out the door. He glances back at her. "I'll run some tests, but you should really go in for a full medical when we get back to The Hub. And maybe, consider… talking to someone?"

Ward looks down at the ground, pushing his hands into his pockets. He twists his lips, pressing his tongue firmly against his teeth, then nods and turns back to leave. Her words are more forward than he'd like, but she's just helped him out, so he doesn't want to argue. He swings back to face her. "Hey, Jemma?"

She glances up from the samples. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

She beams at him and he waves and leaves. A machine whirrs up behind him and he knows she's doing the tests right now. Her dedication warms him but he sighs. She should really sleep, but he doesn't have the energy to fight her tonight. The doors close behind him.

He sighs again and treads towards the stairs, kicking at the floor.

"She's not wrong."

Ward spins around, instantly moving his right foot back. He manages to stop his hands from coming up in fists but it's a close call.

Coulson calmly watches him from beneath the stairs through the whole body shift, clearly aware Ward has moved into a defensive stance. They won't actually physically fight – Ward almost laughs at the idea – but god, if this isn't exactly how he has repeatedly felt around Coulson lately.

"Which is why, of course, you'll go in there now and let her upload yours and Skye's results to the SHIELD network, sir?"

"That's different."

"Not really, sir." Ward's not sure he believes his words. It's entirely possible that it is different but, if so, it's simply more information that Coulson is keeping from him. It's getting a little tiring, and tonight he's already very tired.

"I have a number, if you need to talk to someone," Coulson says. "Not SHIELD."

Ward scoffs at him. "Do you use them?"

Coulson's silence is answer enough.

Ward stands straight, relaxing his body out of the combat position. "Good night, sir," he says, then jogs up the stairs. He walks further down the hall, till he's out of Coulson's hearing range, then leans against the door to catch his breath.

He needs another shower.

*

He stops by the supply cupboard, pulling out a couple of fresh bars of soap and some shampoo, before heading towards the bathroom. Strictly speaking, he doesn't need either – no one actually needs to use water or soap in the shower; it has a sonic setting. None of them use it though, unless they've run out of water. There should still be plenty left.

He hesitates for a moment before entering, then forces his body inside, slapping at the light switch on the wall. It's one of the few manual ones on the bus; mood lighting, he supposes. His photophobia seems to have been fixed by Simmons' drugs, but still, he squints as the lights flare through the room.

He strips. The mirror on the far wall beckons to him, and he stares at it, then reluctantly trails towards it. Ward takes a deep breath, and faces it straight on. He takes a moment just to look at the front of his body, before twisting around and looking at his back. There are bruises on his back from the fight with May, and his arms and shoulders are a little cut from when they went through the glass. There's a sweet shade of purple blossoming on his right cheek from the last punch from May; it'll match the one he gave her.

There aren't any bruises on his neck; nothing that Simmons may have seen when she was looking him over. His chest, however – the bruises there make him freeze. They start at the top of his right shoulder, a few circular marks tracking down his chest. There's a particularly large one just below the base of his neck; it would have just been covered by his shirt. He touches it lightly, then presses deeper – it stings, like it's supposed to. He's glad it does. He presses on it again, watching it disappear under the pressure, but it comes back as soon as he lifts his hand.

Looking further, there are a couple of scratches, but nothing deep. It's not like he'd been fighting _her_. Even though he should have been.

Her. Why the fuck can he say her name out loud, but not think it?

He backs away from the mirror and steps into the shower, making sure that it's hotter than usual; hotter than he'd had it earlier. He leans his head against the wall, then slowly slides down it, sticking his feet out in front of him. The stream beats down on his head and his shoulders, and he watches as the water pools around his legs and feet. He closes his eyes and stops thinking.

Ward's not sure how long he sits in there. Footsteps pass by the door at some point – he can just hear them over the water – and there may have been a light tap, but he ignores it, and lets the water flow over him.

Eventually, he runs out of water. The buzzing of the sonic shower erupts in his ears, and he flinches, stabbing at the wall with his fingers to turn it off. The beehive noise was the main reason they never used it. Maybe Fitz could fix it.

He waits for a couple of moments, then climbs out of the shower. He towels himself down, then pulls on another set of clean clothes. He steps out, checks the hallway is clear, and heads down to his bunk.

He pauses outside it and leans his head against the door, sighing. Fuck, the vomit. It was going to be stinking out his room by this point. He sighs again and opens the door and–

His room doesn't smell. He glances at the floor to find that the puke is gone.

Someone's cleaned it up. He doesn't know who; it could honestly be anyone at this point, except Skye – though he doubts it would be Coulson – and he's been in the shower long enough. Probably Simmons. Maybe Fitz. Simmons would probably do it by hand, using some chemical magic. Fitz would try and use the DWARFs, though Ward's not sure just how well that would work.

He doesn't hope for anyone else.

He dumps his clothes in a corner and crawls into bed. He pulls the sheets up, but doesn't sleep.

*

He doesn't know how long he lies there, staring at the wall. He's not even really aware of what he's thinking.

The door to his room slides open. Ward won't turn over. There's only one other person on the bus who would do that without warning – only one other person, really, who _could_ do that without warning; who was capable of being so silent that he couldn't hear their footsteps. Apart from Coulson but he and Coulson didn't have the type of relationship that would allow Coulson to encroach on his personal space. Too awkward.

He lies there in the dark, his senses hyperaware, ears endeavouring to hear something. But there's nothing but the sounds of his own breaths.

The door slides shut.

He closes his eyes and, this time, he sleeps.

*

In the morning, he wakes and dresses. Underwear, shirt, pants, socks. It is as he's pulling his boots on that he glances down and notices the white package lying just inside his door. It's tiny – maybe an inch by inch and a half – with creased folds on the side facing up. He ties his laces, staring at it, then crouches to pick it up. As he stands, he flips it over and reads it. _Ten Square_. He frowns, then opens one side to sniff. It's soap. Plain, basic soap found at any hotel or motel in any country the world over.

Such as a hotel in Ireland, not far from a church with a very long history that dredged up some of his own.

He sighs, and is about to drop it on his bed when his nail snags the flap of paper and he catches sight of black ink printed on the inside.

Curious, he opens the entire wrapper and flattens it between his hands, dumping the soap on the bed. He looks down and takes a moment just to focus on the fine print.

_You don't need this to be clean._

It's almost a joke; it could be a joke given the sonic shower.

It's not though. He's not sure why she's done it now, given what she did last night.

Still. He folds the paper back up and puts it in his pocket.

*

To: jgar3@strategicconsultants.com

From: gwar12@strategicconsultants.com

Subject: In town

Hey,

Gonna be in town tomorrow at the local hub. Can we catch up?

-G

–

To: gwar12@strategicconsultants.com

From: jgar3@strategicconsultants.com

Re: Subject: In town

sure thing. all good?

> Hey,

> Gonna be in town tomorrow at the local hub. Can we catch up?

> -G

–

To: jgar3@strategicconsultants.com

From: gwar12@strategicconsultants.com

Re: Subject: In town

little fubar.

> sure thing. all good?

>> Hey,

>> Gonna be in town tomorrow at the local hub. Can we catch up?

>> -G

–

To: gwar12@strategicconsultants.com

From: jgar3@strategicconsultants.com

Re: Subject: In town

ill bring beers. let me know when your here

> little fubar.

>> sure thing. all good?

>>> Hey,

>>> Gonna be in town tomorrow at the local hub. Can we catch up?

>>> -G

ps. can we get some hot dogs or something. t has this thing for keenwa. its weird.

*

May is the first off the plane, but she stops at the waiting SUV and opens the back door and the trunk. She comes back for the gear; today is supposed to be his turn, but apparently she has taken it over. Jemma is guiding Skye down the ramp, her hands curled around Skye's waist. They both smile at him and Simmons mouths _four hours_ at him as they pass. He pulls the drug bottle out of his pocket and wiggles it at her; whatever she's giving him is keeping him steady while reducing his withdrawal symptoms and he should be okay in a couple of days. He's not going to stop following her advice.

Fitz follows them, his bag on his back and one of the girls' bags in each hand. Coulson watches them, then glances at Ward, and turns and strides after the others.

Ward grabs his bag and picks it up.

He walks off the plane, looks out at the Hub, and he breathes in the misty air.

 


End file.
